The Anatomy of Shame
by OhGreat
Summary: Whatever happened to the sanctity of “I saw him first”? Rukia and Orihime don’t so much talk things out as they do stare them out.


_The Anatomy of Shame_

* * *

Orihime _knows_ people don't mix curry with fruit salad. She also knows maybe pregnant women might, but she's not pregnant, so where the urge comes from, she can't articulate. But she's having company over, and who knows, _they_ might like curry and fruit salad tossed together like they belong in the same bowl.

She also knows if she had anything resembling a backbone, she would have said no to the couple coming over. Because it wasn't meant to be a couple of guests, it was supposed to be _a _guest, and the plurality is really bringing her down.

When she asked Ichigo if he wanted dinner on Saturday night, she didn't mean Ichigo and Renji, and she absolutely did not mean Ichigo, Renji, and Rukia. In fact, as she replays the scene in her head, she remembers saying "My soul-mate and future husband, Kurosaki, might I make you dinner on the evening of Saturday?" Okay, so it didn't play out like that, but she knows Ichigo was alone when she asked, and Renji and Rukia were, to put it simply, not there. How did it end up like this?

Not that she doesn't just_ die_ cooking for her friends, but tonight is meant for one friend, and she knows he likes curry and fruit salad, so where can she go wrong?

Well, apparently she went wrong with the curry, the fruit, and the salad, because no one is eating.

It is Saturday night, and the four of them look awkward sitting at a table meant for two, elbows pushed outward, grinning in turns—first Ichigo, then Renji, and Rukia just doesn't grin—and Orihime can't seem to stop smiling. She's not happy—she'll tell you she is, though she isn't—but you've got to smile in situations like these, because frowns prompt questions, which prompt lies.

Ichigo is staring down at his plate like he is trying to read a dictionary, and Renji keeps bumping into him. Their table looks shrunken; Ichigo and Renji are ridiculously enormous for supposedly being teenagers, and Orihime knows 16-year-olds don't harbor six packs like _that._

It's after dinner (thank God) that the four wheels go out for dessert somewhere. They walk in pairs on the promenade, the sky a cloudy mix of black and smog, no stars, no moon. There's enough light from the neon signs and shining lampposts, but stars make everything so much more…romantic.

But it doesn't matter. She's not walking by Ichigo, she's walking behind him with Rukia. It's okay, she likes Rukia a lot, she admires her for the strength Orihime will never have. She likes the mask of Rukia's petite frame, and the determined gleam that shines off her face. More than that, Rukia is her friend.

Orihime isn't as obnoxiously naïve as the world seems to think she is. She notices things, like the way Ichigo leans in when he and Rukia walk beside the other. She can see the way Ichigo's posture changes, the way he relaxes when Rukia's with him, the way he starts to slouch, just in case they might bump into each other.

It's a little painful. Well, that's a lie.

The pain doesn't dull, either. She thought it was supposed to dull, you know, after the fire, but nothing's dulled yet. And when she sees Rukia, she knows the fire's still going, because in the pit of her stomach, trapped in a box and tied with a lock, she feels anger.

Angry that perhaps she wasn't good enough, that she didn't try harder, that _she was there first._

But with that anger comes the inevitable guilt and a wild self-loathing. Because Rukia, _this_ Rukia, is her friend who's done nothing but protect her. And yet every time she's with Rukia, Orihime can feel this butter-soft irritation that slides through her stomach and up into her throat. She's tried to shake it, tried to hide it away somewhere in the dark part of her brain, but it's still there.

The group is reaching an ice cream stand, and by now Orihime is brimming with guilt. She looks at Rukia and suffers some more, and when Rukia starts to order her dessert, Orihime jumps in with,

"I can pay for yours," she says with a smile. Rukia tries to stop her, but the money's been exchanged, and all that's left are some delicious looking dairy products.

Rukia, who's shaken the surprise by now, replies, "Thank you, Inoue, you're a good friend."

Orihime feels like crying.

They need some place to sit, so they turn a railing into a couch. Ichigo and Renji are talking, so Orihime either needs to join in or start a new one with Rukia.

But she knows nothing about the "variable valves and lifts with electronic control" car jargon Ichigo's explaining to Renji, so she's dug her own hole.

Orihime starts with a lame comment on the weather, which stops the conversation just as quickly as it starts it. She never had trouble chatting before, but she knows each day it gets harder; it's more tainted. She feels fake, she feels like "the bad guy", but it is better than feeling like "the other woman".

Rukia has by now sensed the stale air and remedies it with, "There's cirrus clouds out."

Orihime, whose cloud ignorance is iridescent, looks up at the sky. "Cirrus clouds?"

Rukia nods. "Yeah." She traces the night with a finger. "They're everywhere, really big, probably means a storm might be coming."

"…Should we go inside?" Orihime is staring at the sky like she doesn't want to move, and in truth, she wants to know more about clouds, because she likes Rukia a little more now. Like the old days.

Rukia laughs. "No, I think we're okay."

"I…I didn't know you liked clouds." Orihime chimes in like a bell.

Rukia has an explanation behind her tongue, but her reply is simple, "They're so…quiet." She stops and says, "Well, on sunny days." She pauses again. "If there were stars out, we could go stargazing. But smog and cirrus clouds make that a little hard."

Orihime relaxes, and wants to ask what stargazing is like in the Seiretei, when suddenly—

"What the hell are _circus _clouds, Rukia?" Ichigo asks, and Rukia yells back, "You're a fool, Ichigo!"

The silent moment is gone along with the breath of thought, and the discomfort returns as Ichigo and Rukia display the intimacy and comfort Orihime so badly desires. The quiet resentment floods back as Rukia says over and over IchigoIchigoIchigo, and if Orihime could ditch formalities and yell "Ichigo!" too, she would. Yet she's not that kind of girl, and so she sticks with the frustratingly permanent "Kurosaki".

It's now the time that they start to walk home, and Rukia is paired with Orihime again. Sometimes, on the days when Orihime is particularly transparent, she thinks Rukia knows. She thinks that Rukia can see the anger Orihime keeps trapped in her sternum, the vinegary fire that never dulls.

She feels ashamed.

Then, as the anatomy of the group changes, and Rukia is walking next to Ichigo, Orihime knows.

She knows it's supposed to be this way.

It tastes so bitter.

* * *

End.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I know nothing about clouds or cars (uh, can you say Wikipedia), so don't correct me if I got it wrong, because I don't care!

I absolutely love Orihime's conflicting emotions of resentment and loyalty towards Rukia—they're so real, because we've all felt it before.

I do wish Orihime and Ichigo would get together, but clearly they're headed for different paths. : (

Comments?


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